


our heroes are dead

by keithundead



Category: Set It Off (Band), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic), Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fabulous Killjoys Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Other, also be prepared for so much goddang angst, de'wayne is there bc friendship, we got GAYS we got HEROES
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-05-13 21:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithundead/pseuds/keithundead
Summary: The Killjoys were the first non-supers to run away to the Zones, they had a "different" power to protect- The Girl. When her bomb went off after their death, the power-possessing souls of Battery City were set free- leaving those with "unfortunate" abilities to be kicked out and never return.Today brings fourth a new not-so-fabulous four; even though they may not take on the title, Zone citizens consider them to be the brand new Killjoys.





	1. your most obvious weakness

His fingers were cracked and bloody from trying to revamp the cart. Worst thing about lying across a semi-populated desert? The concrete. And the overwhelming scent of the dumpster behind one of Tommy Chow Mein’s chain diners. He’s kill to have to do anything _else_ but try and fix a broken golf cart. He flinched at the sparks that flew from the wires he tried to bind.

He didn’t know why he was putting himself under so much pressure- no pun intended.

It’d been damn near an hour of trying to repair the dead battery from the inside, but alas, no such luck. _God, I’m tired,_ he thought, _if I don’t catch a break soon, if fuck this car up_ beyond _repair_. With an exasperated sigh, he crawled out from underneath the cart. He tightened the bandana around his eyes, wiped the sticky mixture of grease and sweat from his forehead, and headed for the diner.

When he walked in, the front definitely _looked_ like a diner, but the window attached to the registry made the establishment feel like a cheap convenience store. Knowing Tommy from Bat City, he no doubt was in the middle of “reconstructing.” He sniffed, looking at an empty booth nearby, then at the rack of “disposable good” in the center: carbon packs, fizz cans, and-

“I- wow.” he sighed at the sight of the mid, circular row. It was packed with cigs, papers, lighters, and run of the mill drugstore medicines. What piqued his interest the most were the cigs, he hadn’t smoked _anything_ in, like, a year. He could practically feel the sharp, bitter stick on his tongue.

Maybe he was starting to like the desert… maybe.

Then he remembered why he stopped smoking, who he quit for, how happy it made him when he did. The memory is pleasant, but it’s engraved tighter to his eyelids than the cloth the wore around them. When he thought about it, he figured it wouldn’t hurt just to pick up the habit again-

“Hey, man, you gonna buy something or steal it? Can’t call the cops ‘round here, but I ain’t about to hesitate cappin’ a mothefucker before things get ugly.” the cashier (waiter?) spoke. He lifted his apron to reveal a white a blue colored ray gun attached to his hip. He most likely thought the redhead was out to steal, _damnit_.

“No worries, I’ll pay,” he responded, picking up a pack of Camels and walking up to the counter. “I’ll take a menu, too, if you don’t mind.”

The moment he stood in front of the glass, the cashier tilted his head side to side, squinting. “You can see under that? Like, for real?” he waved his hand in front of him, clearly in awe of its single eye design.

With an unseen roll of his eyes, he said “that’s my steez, dude. I can see in the dark.” He tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently, he just really wanted some food and a smoke at this point. He’d need to recharge if he was gonna hit the road again anytime soon.

“No. Fuckin’. WAY! That’s what you’re out here for? Goddamn x-ray vision? Shit, dude, I thought _I_ had it bad, check this out.” He took the miniature register in his hands, threw in the air, and watched as it spun and slammed down on the counter without a scratch on it. It actually looked… pretty impressive; the open slots containing loose change still kept everything in place.

“Anything I flip lands back to where it was,” he sniffed, pleased with himself, “got kicked out for betting on coin tossing.”

“How tragic, uh,” the name tag on his stained polo read ‘De’Wayne.’ “De’Wayne, is it? I wouldn’t let anyone make me feel shitty for a gift like that.”

De’Wayne smiled, “exactly, man! These scarecrows caught me lackin’, and the next thing I knew, I’m flippin’ paninis for Tommy Bitchass Chow Mein. The nerve of these people, jeez.”

_Tell me about it,_ he wanted to say, but the painful growling of his stomach made him get back on track. “So, how much for the smokes?” he slid the pack over to De’Wayne expectantly.

After paying 5 carbons (a bargain, if he’s seen one) and taking the laminated (yet still wrinkled) menu, scanning it to decide what to eat while sitting down in the nearest booth. There wasn’t much, which isn’t a surprise, but the prices were _insane._ Five carbons for a fuckin’ Camel pack and damn near twenty for a coffee? That’s just- oh. Oh. Oh, no. _Way to go, dickhead._

Coffee… why’s every place gotta sell coffee? Why can’t there be, like, tea or some shit? The item on the menu only made his head pound, if only he didn’t have that _stupid_ fucking nickname. _I wish I hated that nickname, why don’t I hate it,_ he thought to himself. It gave him a bad taste in his mouth, but a skip in his heart. Jeez.

The presence of another person next to him made his shoulders tense.

“So, what can I get ya?” De’Wayne asked with a smile.

“I’ll have the uh,” he glanced at the breakfast section, a sickly sweet feeling warming (and chilling) his heart, “mystery hash and eggs.”

“Shell or no shell?”

“Um… no shell?” _of course people in the Zones have a ‘shell or no shell’ preference_.

“Alrighty, and a name? It’s for the order.”

He looked around outside of his both, the tables were empty apart from the miscellaneous piles of sauces and stray lighters. “You know I’m the only person here, right?” Like hell he was gonna give his real name to anyone out here; once you go by your city name, that makes you a target.

De’Wayne sighed, then pointed to a camera on the ceiling. “Company ‘policy,’ sorry.” his demeanor went from upset to promising, “but hey, nobody out here goes by their name for real- except for us sorry motherfuckers under Chow’s boots.”

With an (unseen) roll of his eyes, he looked up at the curly haired waiter. The only name he could think of was the one he picked up from his old job, the same one that made him smile, that made him quit smoking- that trashed his fucking cart.

_Here goes nothing, Zig_.

“Coffee Run.”


	2. in the middle of a gun fight

He'd been sleeping in his car.  
  
It was constricting at first, but he soon grew accustomed to the sticky leather seats. De'Wayne was nice enough to let him stay parked in front of the diner; he had an easy access to gas pumps and enough carbons for food. things were simple, for the most part.  
  
Sleeping was always difficult, seeing through his own eyelids _made_ it difficult. The cloth he kept around them helped a bit, surrounding himself in darkness in the middle of the desert seemed... comforting. It didn't feel normal, sleeping alone, but it was a feeling nonetheless.  
  
Coffee almost felt proud of himself; living in a golf cart didn't seem that bad.  
  
~  
  
"Watch the merchandize, asshole!" Coffee spat, swatting his hand at an incoming salt shaker.  
  
"Hey- HEY! break it up, scuzz bags!" a staff member, burly as anyone could ever be considered, grabbed the two by their collars.  
  
Coffee sat at the diner bar with his bandana wrapped tightly around his eyes, as quiet and stoic as a rock. He continued to read his (somewhat interesting) zone newspaper to himself. Of course, the two strangers in his peripheral continued to rough each other up despite the employee's best efforts. Fights came and went around there, and he had no interest whatsoever in trying to break them up himself anymore (he learned that the hard way).  
  
After getting lost in an article titled " _Carbons: How Much Are They_  Actually _Worth_?," he wondered what their powers were. _Probably nose picking,_ the thought, _or picking fights, since they like poking their fingers in gross shit_. He figured they'd be just as pointless as his own.  
  
Until he heard a frightening crunch.  
  
The diner, which was already focusing most of their attention to the fight, fell silent. Coffee Run whipped his head in the direction of the sound, then squinted at the scene in front of him. It was... not as frightening as he anticipated, to say the least. The diner employee seemed ticked off, but impressed all the same. Surprised, and still unamused- the man was an enigma.  
  
In the midst of the register, rack of cigarettes and perishables, along with the rest of a diner stood a man. He was short (shorter than coffee, which was impressive to be) and staid, paying Coffee's eye (or lack there of) contact no mind while he wiped dust—wait, _dust_?!—off his clothes. His whole presence seemed damning, right down to the rubble lying at his feet. Dirt Man decided to sit down at his original spot at the counter, brushing debris from his "burger" and continuing to eat.  
  
"That dude's got stamina, huh?" to his left, De'Wayne's voice startled him.  
  
Pretending not to have flinched at the sound, Coffee flipped the page of his newspaper. "Yeah, I guess. He a regular here, or what?"  
  
"Not a clue. This is usually my day off."  
  
"You come to your job... on your days off?" the bitter realization hit him like whatever Dirt Man used to knock Salt Thrower Guy on the floor.  
  
"Who do you think's gonna sweep up Hulk's mess?" he gestured to the (alarming) disarray of crushed boulders with a broom.  
  
"Sucks to suck, man," Coffee chuckled, "good thing I never took a job here."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, whateva treva." he shoved him playfully, then proceeded to sweep as much as he could into his dust pan.  
  
They continued their daily banter together; Coffee read and De'Wayne swept while the diner was still in a state of shock. Most of the customers left during the fight, and those that stayed kept whispering about and tealing glances at Dirt Man. Rude, to be honest. Personal space clearly isn't valued to any extent in the zones.  
  
He found that out when he got a crumpled piece of paper dropped unceremoniously in front of him. From the Dirt Man.  
  
"Wh- the fuck is this?" Coffee spat at dirt man.  
  
Dirt Man pressed a finger on the paper, then slid it in Coffee's direction. _Gu_ _ess he wants me to... open it?_  
  
Coffee Run budged- what's the harm in a note? He unfurled the dust-ridden paper to read:  
  
 _i know you can see under there._  
  
 _quit staring at me._  
  
 _thanks._  
  
Coffee almost smiled, he was absolutely mortified by silent Dirt Man, but he found the note entertaining. He folded it back up and slid it over to Dirt Man.

"Don't worry, I ain't one for diggin' in other folks business." he gave dirt man an all-to-friendly punch on the shoulder. Mistake.

Dirt Man grabbed him by his dog tags, he made sure Coffee was close enough to see the bags under his eyes. He leaned in past Coffee's ear and said in a voice low enough for only him to hear:

"Don't."

He pushed coffee back, took his paper, and slapped some carbons on the counter from his pocket. When he left the diner, some lanky, hippie looking stud seemed to be waiting for him. Hippie Guy started pouting at him- had he been... waiting? _What the fuck_  is _this place?_

While Coffee was inappropriately staring daggers at the dirty half pint who'd just manhandled his tags, he almost didn't notice the revving of his golf cart.

De'Wayne came up behind him to tap his shoulder. "Uh, dude, your wagon's going ghost."

Coffee didn't waste any time, he bolted outside to see his car speeding away from the diner. In it, there was a blur of purple hair and maniacal laughter. Dirt Man and Hippie Guy stared at him in confusion, but he couldn't take his eyes off the desert pavement. Some motherfucker was stealing his ride.

"You-" he grumbled, picking up speed as he chased his car, "FUCK FACE! Get back with my car, you ZOMBIE BOOT LICKER!"

Coffee looked like a mad man, the purple trespasser looked behind to see him, smirked, and started doing donuts in the middle of the street. _H_ _e's gonna fuck up the tires!_

"JUST YOU WAIT 'TILL I CATCH YOU," Coffee heaved, waving his fist like an angry old man at Purple Bitch

"Or what, Blind Samurai?" Purple Bitch cackled. That smug, arrogant little-

Crack.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his car was... floating? Right in front of his face, a chunk of pavement levitated the car in midair. The moving car caused a yelp of panic from Purple Bitch. _Holy shit._

Coffee looked back to see Dirt Man with his hands up, they were glowing neon orange. The same neon orange light surrounded the hunk of pavement, and Coffee swore he heard Hippie Guy say something along the lines of "oh would you put him down." He could only blink his eyes in bewilderment as Dirt Man lowered his arms, bringing the golf cart back with it.

Purple Bitch looked like he was about to wet himself, and he made sure to high tail it out of Coffee's wagon before things got sticky. Coffee, however, was quick to dash to the driver's side of the golf cart and grab Purple Bitch by his backpack straps.

" _You_."

"Hey! Samurai, uh, right?" Purple Bitch's voice was anxious, and Coffee felt he had every right to be. "Listen, this was all just a-"

"Misunderstanding?" he tightened his grip on the straps, staring him dead in the eye through his bandana.

"Well, I know it doesn't look that way, but-" Purple Bitch flinched when Coffee raised his fist at him, raising his gloved hands to protect himself. "Woah- _woah_! Let's talk, okay? We're both adults here, right?"

"No, _you_ listen, fuck face-" Coffee was about to lay into that violet-haired asshole when he felt two (surprisingly) strong arms rip him away.

There he stood: Dirt Man. He eyed Purple Bitch, and his expression lead coffee to believe he wasn't impressed by him. Without much notice (but not without a struggle), Dirt Man yanked Purple Bitch's backpack off his shoulders and began to walk away with it.

"No- no, no, man you gotta give that back," Purple Bitch... begged? "you don't understand, man.I gotta keep that on me."

Dirt Man raised an eyebrow as if to say "for what?" and Purple Bitch sighed. He took the bag back, unzipping it slowly to reveal two black, fluffy ears. He had... a cat? A fucking cat in there, of all things.

Coffee and Purple Bitch exchanged looks. he almost felt sympathetic (almost), but he was waiting for a good reason not to stomp this mother fucker into dust.

"We needed the ride, okay?"

"'We?'"

"Yes, we." he sighed, putting the bag down and picking up the cat, "our car broke down, we needed a way to get around the damn _desert_ , so when I saw your cart..."

"You didn't know what else to do?" Hippie Guy spoke up. His voice was kind and genuine, and the sting of his tone reminded him of- _no. Not the time_.

Purple Bitch nodded. "We didn't mean any trouble, for the most part, okay?"

Coffee felt tense for a second, as if everyone was staring at him. Wait a second-

"Why are you all staring at me?"

Hippie Guy held a somber expression in his eyes, almost to say "pretty please." It hurt to think he'd upset this (seemingly) kind stranger for the first time. Not to mention the look Purple Bitch was giving him- he seemed just as emotionally wounded as that kitten in his arms, the poor thing. The gaze that stung the most was from Dirt Man, though. He'd only heard the guy speak once, yet his eyes were an entire fucking essay; for a second, he thought they were all trying to-

No.

 _Fuck_ no.

Abso-fucking- _lutely_ not. That wasn't about to happen.

"Oh, yeah right, real clever, guys." Coffee scoffed, squinting at all of them through his scarf. "I ain't doin' no favors for some cart stealin' punk. Nuh uh. Count me out."

He crossed his arms, but they all just... stared at him. Jesus Christ- the _cat_ was staring at him!

"So- let me get this straight," he unfolded his arms, pointing directly at Purple Bitch. " _you_ stole my car."

" _You_ almost turned it topside down-" he pointed at Dirt Man. No way was he getting off the hook, either.

"-and _you_ expect _me_ to just... fuckin'... help you?" he damn near screamed.

They all looked at him; he couldn't believe this was happening

"Well, we could always go home."

 _"we could always go home."_   _fuck, Zig,_ he thought, _out of all the memories- did you have to resurface that one_? He blinked away unseen tears, sniffing and tightening his bandana.

 _Fuck it, here goes nothin_ '.

"I'm driving."


	3. 8 days a week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for this entire chapter, read notes at the end FIRST

The engine comes to life with a “ _bzzt_ ” noise, and he’s exhausted by the sound of it. He thinks back to the last 4 hours, and he can’t believe half of his shift is… doing  _ this _ .

Sweat rolls down his forehead. His body has reached its limit, surely they can’t expect him to go any longer. His hands feel like they’re shaking, but he knows it’s just the warmth he’s generating. He looks up at the windows on the walls where his supervisors are writing notes. Another whirring noise indicates that they’ve powered it down again, and he  _ really  _ wants to go to sleep right now.

“Hey, you good?” Cody asks him, “I can tell them you’re spent if you want.” he gives Maxx a pat on the shoulder, almost knocking him over. Maxx shakes his head, then reaches for his bandana to wipe off the sweat- only it’s… not there? Oh, right, he gave it to-

“Initiating Procedure A16. Subject, get back to work.” comes a voice from above, he can’t tell which one of them it is, they all sound the same.

Cody offers a weak smile, heading back to his side of the gym. “That’s your cue.”

 

* * *

 

Fifteen minute lunch breaks never felt more liberating. BLI gave special permissions to “gifted employees” (like Maxx and Cody), and the added 15 minutes? A blessing.

“Dude, you should’ve seen your face.” Cody laughs.

“Whatever, at least it was a plane engine instead of your face.” Maxx punches his arm, careful not to drop his sandwich. Cody always managed to take the levity out of work. It was good for him, being around someone who was actually happy to be there.

They both had power-related workouts today, and Maxx’s routine never fails to kick his ass. Usually, he’d start small, but today… something was off. He had to restart the electric mechanics of not only a plane engine, but 4 different battery powered cars  _ and  _ all the computers from the 20th floor. Cody, too, had an intense session; he stayed under the blowtorches for nearly an hour before he called it quits.

He looks out at the rest of Battery City from the patio. It’d be beautiful if rain wasn’t beating down on the window that shielded the two. Someone in the Weather Department must be having a bad day, because nobody in the city seems to have an umbrella. He can see his apartment getting poured on in the distance, and the library, and the… skate park.

_ “You ollie'd into my lap, was  _ that  _ an accident too?” he snorts. It wasn’t an accident at all, but he liked playing the stuck up boyfriend role… whenever  _ his  _ boyfriend wasn’t. _

And he could feel him- his lips, his hand, his hair. He can smell his hair, too. Almost too accurately. It’s all connected, the way he misses being held to the park, to the patio, to the way he’s holding a sandwich in the way  _ he  _ used to hold his hand. Everything is an orchestra of memories Maxx can’t shake.

_ “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, you’ll never know.” _

_ They’re making out where everyone can see, but they don’t care. They only care about the safety of their boards, and the amazing kiss they’re sharing.  They’re both laughing, holding each other’s hand and zipping throughout the concrete together. Together. _

_ Caring didn’t matter here, nothing mattered at the skate park. _

Maxx forgets what’s happening in real time now, all he can focus on are the events of the past. He forgets to breathe properly; he’s hyperventilating in real time now, eyes glazing over with tears and… and…

He drops his sandwich. It hits the ground with a similar noise to whenever he busted his ass on the ground while boarding. The crunch from the toasted bread is the sound of him breaking his arm that one time, the sauce on the ground is his blood from scraping his knee. He dropped it. He fell. It’s all his fault.

Maxx is full on crying now, and Cody’s noticed he’s been quiet, but when he starts crying over it he feels awful. Maxx is definitely not comfortable with his memory, and he’s even more uncomfortable with Cody trying to shake him back to reality. He doesn’t want to let go, he can’t let go.

“Maxx, Maxx!”

Then it’s all gone, the memory is replaced with Cody. And Cody wasn’t there, right? How is he-

“C’mon, it’s not real, none of it is real.”

_ He’s… real. He wasn’t there. It’s a memory,  _ Maxx sighs,  _ only a memory. _

After a few deep breaths and a reassuring hug from his best friend, Maxx is able to breathe again. The memories of the skatepark begin to fade away, and he can hear the shuffling people getting back to work.

“I don’t think we should sit out here anymore.”

 

* * *

 

At home, everything is much more relaxing.

He edits his pictures and sends them in for review with Pistol purring on his lap. He’s wrapped in a warm robe, sipping tea with his hair tied up and a movie playing in the background. Pistol plops her face on his keyboard, making a line of button smashes appear in his email. Nearly spitting out his tea, he picks her up and sets her on the floor.

“Bad kitty,” he scolds, “do you want me to lose my job?”

Of course, Pistol can’t understand him, so she wanders to the kitchen to play with her toys.

Maxx rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone, “come back here young lady!” He’s filming her now, zooming out between his computer and the kitchen. When he’s done, he sends the video the Cody with the message “she’s acting up again” attached to it.

He continues preparing the email, lining up the pictures in alphabetical order (which is ridiculous, considering BLI doesn’t remember names) as per request. While he waits for the graphic designer to send him back the template, he notices a file he sure as hell did not mean to send.

 

**_J_ROCHA_ID#1264.jpeg_ **

 

**“** Fuck,” he says under his breath, “they better not get on my ass about this one.”

Maxx takes swig of tea, remembering the last time he put in the ID request of a different terminated employee. His workout session took up the entire day, and he  _ definitely  _ didn’t want to do that again. All he could do now is hope that it won’t be as big of a deal like the other one. 

_ Knowing him? Of course it’ll be. _

Within the next minute or two, Pistol pounces on his lap as soon as he gets a response. As if she wanted to know what’ll happen, too.

 

**_EMPLOYEE Z#697: DANZIGER, MAXX_ **

_YOU HAVE SUBMITTED THE IDENTIFICATION PHOTO OF AN EMPLOYEE BY THE NAME_ ** _H#698: ROCHA, JAWNSON_** _. RESEND THE NAME LIST WITHIN THE NEXT_ ** _10_** _MINUTES OR UNDERGO A PUNISHMENT OF_ ** _ABILITY CHECK_** _FOR THE FOLLOWING_ ** _2 DAYS._**

_ SINCERELY, BETTER LIVING INDUSTRIES. _

_ KEEP SMILING😃 _

 

He’s never organized a submission faster in his life. He makes an effort to actually delete the file this time, _ never opening that shit again,  _ and almost immediately receives another email.

 

**_EMPLOYEE Z#697: DANZIGER, MAXX_ **

_ YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED YOUR PHOTOGRAPHY SUBMISSION AND REMOVAL OF THE EXTERMINATED EMPLOYEE. YOU WILL NOW BE REWARDED WITH  _ **_30_ ** _ MINUTES OF TIME SHAVED FROM YOUR  _ **_ABILITY CHECKING_ ** _ ACTIVITIES. HAVE A GOOD REMAINDER OF YOUR EVENING. _

_ SINCERELY, BETTER LIVING INDUSTRIES. _

_ KEEP SMILING😃 _

 

Pistol meows at him, and Maxx chuckles. “Are you telling me I did good? How sweet.”

Maxx sets aside his computer, and Pistol, then turns off his TV. As he’s getting ready for bed, he sets a reminder to on his phone to feed her before leaving work. He cleans his glasses, folds his clothes for the morning, and double checks every door in the house to see if they’re closed.

Finally, he can sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maxx has an ocd related incident, and he has a panic attack because of it


End file.
